Chapter Text
“What a shitty day for a battle.”
Felix gazes at the scenery before them, but there isn’t much to look at other than fog.
“What, you aren’t interested in the extra challenge?” Sylvain jokes, but he only glares.
“Not when we’re fighting such an important battle, no,” Felix deadpans. “The fog will be a distraction. We’re at a disadvantage, especially if the Empire is already set up at Gronder.”
Dimitri is inclined to agree. He can’t see five feet in front of him, even more difficult with all but a single eye, and growls in annoyance. On his back, Areadbhar silently sings of death. Even now, he can feel the organism writhe, beating ever so slightly as if it were attuned to his own emotions.
“Relax, Dimitri,” the Professor soothes, appearing beside him as if out of thin air. Their hair is a blur of mint green amid the thick blanket of white around them. The fog covers everything, from the supposed lush landscape before them to even their many troops marching alongside them toward Gronder. “It’s all going to be fine. Claude will hold up his end of the deal, and we’ll be ready for whatever Edelgard throws at us.”
On his other side, Sylvain puts a hand on his shoulder, though not suddenly. “Yeah, the Professor’s right! Lighten up, will you? We need you at your best, big guy. This is where it could all end.”
It , Sylvain says.
The war , Dimitri thinks. My family’s suffering. Edelgard’s life .
Dimitri says nothing, simply nodding curtly.
Just two days ago, the Kingdom (more specifically, the Professor) sent a messenger to Leicester to request reinforcements from the Alliance, as they heard that Imperial troops were gathering at Fort Merceus, led by the Emperor herself. The response was better than any of them could have asked for; the following day, the messenger returned with the news that Claude is offering to form an alliance with them.
With a few more messages sent back and forth, here they are now, marching southwest from the Great Bridge of Myrddin toward Fort Merceus. Unfortunately, a scout reported that the troops said to be stationed at Fort Merceus have moved up for unknown reasons—up to Gronder Field. Thus, is it there that their decisive battle will take place. How poetic, Dimitri thinks.
Perhaps she thinks kill Dimitri and end the war here and now—how foolish of her. It’ll be the opposite, he knows.
Dimitri still believes it would be easiest to simply fight Edelgard head-on and rip her head from her shoulders. The others, including both Claude and the Professor, believe otherwise, and Dimitri is begrudgingly forced to comply. Even he knows by now that there is strength in numbers.
As much as he wants to torture Edelgard until her eardrums rupture from the sound of her own painful screams, he can’t underestimate her. He knows what she is capable of—the true beast she is behind those lavender eyes. She is no different from him in that regard. So he will follow their rules. But, above all, he will still have her head.
The shadows lurking around him will never forgive him if he doesn’t.
They’ve grown quieter, he’s noticed, since their alliance with Claude. He wonders what the reason is.
Now, Claude trails about an hour or so behind them in order to set up their ambush on Edelgard’s forces. He doesn’t know exactly what Claude plans to do, but all Dimitri has to do is distract her.
After all, he trusts Claude.
Some might say that trust is misplaced, but Dimitri has always had a special sort of fondness for the man, even back then. Claude—scheming, devious Claude—is simply what he appears to be on the outside. Dimitri knows better than anyone just what it means to create a mask.
He was never particularly close to Claude back then, other than the occasional good morning as they exited their rooms. He wonders if Claude ever heard him speaking to them so late at night. If he did, he said nothing.
So yes, perhaps he may be foolish to trust Claude. He is foolish in many ways.
But Claude is not here, he reminds himself. Not yet.
Dimitri must focus on the task at hand.
They venture further into the mists of Gronder, tension rising like the strings of an orchestra. There’s little noise as they march on, save for stale grass crunching beneath armoured feet and heavy breaths in time with their steps. They will press on. Fog or sun, Dimitri would have it no other way.
Eventually, they reach a thin bridge that Dimitri recognizes all too well. They stop.
An eagle cries overhead.
Byleth nods to Dimitri, then takes command of the forces as they begin to set up their makeshift camp; tents and stations with various uses.
After some time, they finish setting up camp and gather together.
Dimitri turns to the army, standing tall and proud as if they are not about to forfeit their lives for the dead. They have fought many times. Dimitri does not understand how they continue to enter every battle so bullish. Dimitri welcomes the fighting, but he is tired of death. There is so much death.
Is he tired of it? He cannot tell at this point.
“Be prepared!” he booms. His soldiers watch him carefully, hanging on his every word like a beast might eye its prey. “The Flame Emperor will hit us hard, and quickly. We will kill her here. We will end the war here. Are you prepared to fight to the end?”
In unison, the soldiers raise their arms and salute Dimitri.
He nods, then turns back around. The Blue Lions stand at his side. They will offer Edelgard to him, he knows.
“Fight to the end,” Felix scoffs. “Not everyone is as obsessed with death as you, boar.”
At Felix’s side, Bernadetta cowers, clutching her bow to her chest. “D—death? I don’t want to die. D—sir. Prince. King. Y—your Highness, you’re not going to send me to my death, right?”
“He’s not that crazy,” Linhardt murmurs. “Besides, Bernie, you’re an archer. Just stay back and you’ll be fine.”
Mercedes smiles, and gently takes Bernadetta’s hands. She looks up with wide eyes. “Plus, if you get hurt, I’ll heal you! Sylvain and Linhardt know some faith magic, too! So don’t you worry, Bernadetta.”
Dimitri ignores their conversation as he steels himself for the encounter. Soon, at Byleth’s command, they are going to strike. Soon, the dead will have their vengeance. Soon…
“Your Highness,” Rodrigue says, suddenly at his side.
“Rodrigue,” Dimitri greets, because he has not forgotten the debt he owes.
“How are you feeling?”
Dimitri scans the area ahead, taking in the foggy atmosphere before them. “Why do you ask?”
“If you meet Edelgard on the battlefield… Will you be alright?”
“I will be alright as soon as I tear her head from her torso.”
“That isn’t…” Rodrigue lets out a soft sigh. “Your Highness, know that I care about you a lot. If you encounter her, please take care of yourself. Don’t be reckless.”
“I am not reckless. I will reclaim the debt that is owed to me.”
“Will killing her really do that?”
Dimitri glares sharper than any dagger. “If you have nothing important to say to me, begone .”
Rodrigue opens his mouth to say something, but he closes it. He bows slightly. “Very well, Your Highness. Please take care.” And just like that, he disappears to help with preparations.
Dimitri shuts his eyes and takes a breath.
The air smells of burning.
His eyes burst open as he looks up. Balls of fire soar through the hazy sky like comets, launched toward his own Kingdom army. He growls and unsheathes Areadhbar.
“ Scatter !”
The army splits apart with the frantic speed of a murder of crows and Dimitri himself dives behind a tree, rolling on his side and coming up against the ground just as the meteors crash into the ground. The earth rumbles. His vision is dotted with red as the plains erupt into a fiery hell, searing heat emerging from the impact.
After the initial collision, the battlefield is much louder; filled with screams of death and cries of pain. Growling, he stands. He spots a handful of soldiers under the rubble. Giant craters litter their camp, made just moments ago but already half-destroyed.
Another reason to have her head , Glenn says.
Her sins continue to grow. Will you let her rest knowing she’s won?
“Never. Never .”
Then go. Go, Mitya. Go!
The army of archers let their arrows fly, raining over the battlefield like heavenly judgement. Across the bridge, the two sides have begun to fight—Faerghus versus Adrestia. Lions versus Eagles.
Dimitri versus the Flame Emperor.
Anger. Anger. Anger. He breaks into a sprint.
Over the bridge. Over the river. To the masses, and to the Empire. His legs carry him across, and he spots his first victims—the battalion protecting the mages who dared to take out his army.
With a battle cry that he knows will shake the earth, he raises Areadbhar and charges in.
“Your Highness—Your Highness !” Dedue shouts behind him, voice fading as he sprints farther away. He ignores Dedue and lets his inhibitions take over. He is running, running, running faster, one foot in front of the other like a steady beat, leaping over the bodies that have already perished and impaling anyone that comes within five feet of him. He hurls a short spear forward, and the strike rings true. It shoots through one of the soldiers stationed near the bridge and roots itself into the ground below. The life vanishes from his eyes.
Rage and violent delight shoot through his veins like lightning. As he wipes the buildup and blood and viscera on his armour, still warm to the touch, he laughs. On the battlefield, he’s no longer His Highness . No longer Dimitri .
Now, all he knows is violence.
He could care less about the Professor’s plans and the whereabouts of the other Blue Lions. As long as they can get him the Flame Emperor, they will suffice.
With a grunt, Dimitri tightens the hold he has on the soldier’s head, nearly crushed between his hands. His eyes are wild as he screams and begs for his life, fear and hatred spitting from his mouth like fire. They are words of disgust. They are words that fall on deaf ears. His fingers twitch, and he smiles.
The Crest of Blaiddyd flashes behind him.
He lets what is left of the body fall to the ground. It splashes blood on his cape.
There is a presence behind him. Even with his vision obscured, he can sense it. He spins and launches Areadbhar forward, activating his Crest once more. There is a scream as it impales the skull of a man halfway through, blood and gore flying out of the wound. Dimitri tears it out with equal strength, and the man chokes on his own blood and falls to his knees, too mangled to shout any longer.
Dimitri lets out a roar and chases after the next one.
The battle continues in this manner, as pathetic foot soldiers who believe they stand a chance against the King of the Beasts offer up their lives to Dimitri. He does not think twice when he cuts them down.
There is bloodshed all around him. If he were just a little younger, he may have been thankful for the fog to block it all out. Now, he is only irritated. At the beginning of the battle, he counted the men who died by his hand. He’s lost count, but he remembers stopping at thirty.
He doesn’t know how much time has passed since the battle began, but every passing minute feels like hours. He knows it will not end until he meets Edelgard.
“ I’ll kill all of you vermin! ” he roars, because he means it. “Bring me Edelgard!”
He feels it. She’s close. She’s somewhere on the battlefield, amidst the rats scampering about. They do everything they can to stay out of his way, but he continues to walk forward. Blood pounds in his ears like thunder rolling across a field, torment piling on his back and weighing him down. He’s desperate. He needs it. He needs to find her. He needs it, he needs to find her —
“Dimitri,” a voice interrupts his thoughts.
He turns around, and on the stone plateau—
She’s there.
She’s there .
“Finally,” he growls. A vicious ecstasy rips through him like a wound being torn open, and he laughs maniacally. “ Finally !”
The voices of the shadows rise to a screech, swirling around him as they hoarsely whisper their sweet nothings. They talk over each other, yet he hears each one so clearly. Every wish, every demand they make, he will fulfill.
He narrows in on the Flame Emperor, darkness consuming the rest of the battlefield. She stands there, silent. Sin crawls down her dress and claws into the ground, yet she still stands, like a holy artifice expunging the darkness from her body. She glows. She glows, untouched by the weight of her sin.
“I did not wish to do this,” she says, stern. Malice drips from her throat. She shifts her stance and readies her axe. “But you are too far gone.”
Because of her. Because of her. Because of her, because of her, because of her, because of her.
He sees red.
Immediately, he is above her, swinging Areadbhar across her neck. She dodges and parries with Amyr. The boney material of the Relics grate against each other in an ugly cacophony of hate, and blood sprays.
“Edelgard,” he snarls as they fall apart, and he lands.
She says nothing.
“ Edelgard !” he yells again, louder, and more unhinged. His throat is hoarse. He strikes once more, and Edelgard is yet prepared. She counters harshly, throwing Dimitri back. He kicks off the ground and lunges at her, Areadbhar aimed at her chest.
Side step. Parry. Thrust. Kick. Parry. Counter.
His body follows through as he strikes downward from above, digging Areadbhar into the collapsing stone as he falls and spinning to deliver a hard kick into Edelgard’s gut. Unfortunately, she blocks it with her shield. She lets out a grunt as she flies back into the stone railing. It cracks as she slams into it, but, just as quickly, she regains her footing.
His breath is shallow as he rushes at her, pure rage fuelling his strength.
Suddenly, pain explodes from his side, and he nearly doubles over. He looks down. An arrow embeds itself in Dimitri’s side, barely piercing his thick armour. Growling, he pulls it out and searches for the culprit.
Then Edelgard is in front of him, swinging down her axe with the force of a raging storm. He falls back but lets out a shout of pain as it strikes his shoulder. It slices through his armour and into an artery, leaving a giant gash oozing blood.
He grips his shoulder and staggers back, fiery pain searing from the wound. Blood stains his hand and drips down his side, pooling on the ground below.
He looks at Edelgard once more, who has her axe raised above.
Rolling to the side as she swings down, he grits his teeth through the pain. It shatters the stone where he was standing. He sweeps at Edelgard’s legs as he gets back up, but she parries and falls back.
He reaches for the short spear in his cloak. He aims it at the archer who injured him earlier, then launches it with all his might.
He doesn’t see the weapon meet its target, but there’s a cry of pain.
Edelgard is on him again. He snaps his focus back to her, and he strikes.
With his shoulder injured, Edelgard begins to overpower him. She pushes through their parries and forces him down. She’s faster, more nimble than Dimitri can strike. Side step. Dodge. Shield. Parry. Counter. Parry, parry, parry.
Frustration builds up in Dimitri’s lungs.
Because of her, because of her, because of her.
She gets a hit on him, slicing open his thigh. He strikes her gut, and blood spills. They are both exhausted, bloody, and broken. Neither relent.
His strikes are random now, unrefined and desperate. Too many openings, too much pain. He doesn’t find it in himself to care.
Die, die, die, die, die, die, die!
Dimitri knocks Edelgard to the ground with a single swipe, and she collapses against the wall. She struggles to hold up Amyr.
The scent of blood is wretched.
Because of her.
“ Die! ” he screams.
He holds Areadbhar above his head, ready to swing it down on Edelgard’s neck.
Suddenly, something strikes him square in the gut, knocking the wind out of his lungs and sending him flying back. Areadbhar falls out of his grip, clattering away. The world spins as he crashes into the ground and rolls, spikes of pain shooting from all over his body. The air smells of burning, and he tastes blood in his mouth. He grunts, breaths shallow and short as he tries to steady himself. He opens his eye, barely, only to spot Edelgard getting up in the distance
“Thank you, Hubert,” he hears Edelgard murmur as walks over.
He struggles to pick himself up, limbs too weak to keep him standing. Edelgard stands above him. Her violet eyes are crystal clear, and she raises her weapon.
No , he tries to scream, but he chokes on his blood. No, no, no!
“Goodbye, Dimitri,” she says, her voice full of regret.
She swings her axe.
He tries to fall back.
Someone leaps in front of him, and the world stops.
Dimitri screams.
No, no, no, no, no, no —!
Time continues its course, and Rodrigue slumps forward into his arms with a pained grunt, gasping. Blood sprays from the giant wound spanning across his back, deep and bloodstained and immediately, immediately Dimitri knows.
He knows Rodrigue could not possibly survive.
“C-Claude!” Rodrigue gasps out. “ Do it now !”
“Damn it, Dimitri!” Claude yells from elsewhere. “Why didn’t you just stick to the plan?”
An arrow pierces the fog and shoots just past Edelgard, who narrowly dodges it. It embeds itself into the ground. She snaps her head toward Claude’s voice as she holds Amyr close to her chest.
“The Alliance?” She curses and calls out. “Hubert!”
“Oh no, you don’t!” Claude yells. “Ferdinand!”
The fog seems to disperse as his army groups around him, Ferdinand charging through the field on horseback. “Hubert, enough of this!” he shouts, readying his lance as he approaches the mage. He disappears over the ridge and into the fog. His battalion charges with him, and if Dimitri isn’t mistaken, they seem to pierce some sort of barrier.
“ Fire! ” Claude commands, invisible in the fog. Held in his voice is a harshness that could not, will not , accept failure.
Edelgard tries to flee, but dozens of arrows rain down upon her. Shockingly, however, though she raises her shield, none strike her. They strike the ground in a circular array, then a beam of white light streaks into the sky.
Piercing the fog, Claude approaches her, poised and collected. There is a hint of tiredness in the way he holds himself.
“Go to sleep, Emperor,” is all he says to her.
She collapses to the ground.
The world holds its breath.
“...Your Highness.”
Dimitri snaps his attention back to the dying man in his arms, and that’s when he’s fully understood exactly what has happened.
“Are you… safe?” Rodrigue croaks out, letting out a harsh cough as blood spills from his lips onto Dimitri’s armour. “Please, tell me it wasn’t… in vain. Has Edelgard been… captured?”
“I—I am safe. But you—”
“I will die happy knowing… I’ve protected you.”
“No, please ,” Dimitri whispers, voice shaky. He holds Rodrigue closer to him. There’s a sharp pain that pierces his chest, sharper than the finest blade, and he can’t stop it when it cuts open his heart. “Please, please, Rodrigue . This punishment, it was—it was mine to bear. Rodrigue, Rodrigue—”
Rodrigue is only calm as he sinks into Dimitri’s arms. “There are no sins or punishments… on the battlefield, my child.”
Dimitri feels the tears welling up in his eye, nothing but dread dread dread dread coursing through his veins.
“Healer,” he remembers desperately. “Healer, healer, please, PLEASE !”
“Your Highness—”
“ Get us a healer —!”
He screams until his voice is hoarse. Healers have already rushed to his side. They use their magic as Dimitri cradles Rodrigue even closer to him, careful not to hurt him even more.
“Don’t die,” he whispers again and again and again and again. “Don’t die, don’t die. Please, please , don’t leave me, too. They all died and left me behind. You can’t leave. You can’t. Are you to join the ghosts who shadow my every move? This…” His breathing is shallow, audible, and the world spins around him. He shuts his eye, tears escaping and trailing down his face. His hands shake.
He feels so, so cold.
“This is my fault! I— I’m the one who killed you! It was me !”
“Heh,” Rodrigue chuckles, though he can hear the loss of strength in his voice. “You have one thing… terribly wrong. “None of them… none of us died… for you. I’m dying for what I… believe in, just as they did. Your… your life is your own. It belongs to no other, living or dead. Live for what you believe in, Dimitri.”
Dimitri shakes his head like an immature child. “No, no, don’t say that! You’ll live, Rodrigue. You’ll live .”
The healers finally move away, and Dimitri looks up.
“I’m sorry, Dimitri,” Mercedes murmurs, on the verge of tears herself. “From the moment he was struck, it was too late.”
His head swims.
Rodrigue lets out a soft sigh. “I’m… sorry I couldn’t fulfill our promise… Lambert.”
Those are his final words as he shuts his eyes, the last remnants of life disappearing from his body.
He is dead.
Rodrigue has died.
The battle has been won, but at what cost?
Tears flow freely down his face, rage contorting his expression, stumbling as he slowly stands.
Edelgard is still unconscious. Claude is placing her on his wyvern.
BECAUSE OF HER BECAUSE OF HER BECAUSE OF HER BECAUSE OF HER BECAUSE OF HER BECAUSE OF HER BECAUSE OF HER BECAUSE OF HER BECAUSE OF HER BECAUSE OF HER BECAUSE OF HER BECAUSE OF HER BECAUSE OF HER BECAUSE OF HER BECAUSE OF HER
He lets out a guttural scream and charges at Edelgard, stumbling on his own feet as he runs. He doesn’t have Areadbhar, but he does not need it. He only needs his own two hands.
She’s there, she’s there, she’s there and she killed Rodrigue .
“Dimitri!” Claude shouts, suddenly in front of him. He holds his arms across, standing in between him and Edelgard. Dimitri puts his hand to his head. It hurts. It throbs in pain.
The army watches.
“ Claude ,” he snarls, venom dripping from his voice. “Move. Aside.”
“This isn’t what we agreed upon. We agreed that you would distract her while we prepared a way to neutralise her.”
“ I will kill her! ” he screams, voice scraped raw as it breaks, but Claude does not budge. More tears stream down in his face. He could kill him. He could strike him down with a single twist of his neck and end the Alliance. He could kill him and kill Edelgard next. “This is everything I need. That is all I ask for.”
When he meets them, Claude’s eyes are cold.
“You’ve done enough , Dimitri. Look around you. Look at Gronder Field. This is what your drive caused.”
“ I have not —”
“ Look at Rodrigue !” Claude shouts, and even Dimitri is taken aback.
Slowly, he looks at Rodrigue, bloody and bruised and broken and dead . He is familiar with death, but he could never be familiar with this one.
Then he looks at his hands.
His hands are bloodied.
Claude exhales sharply. “If you had just stuck to the plan instead of being selfish and self-centred , we could have done it all without any casualties. So many people—my people—had to sacrifice themselves for you, and for what? For you to ruin the plan even more?”
Dimitri can’t find it in himself to speak.
“You’re an important player in this war, Dimitri, but you’d be better off dead.”
Dead .
DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD.
There is guilt.
He looks at Rodrigue.
An unfamiliar feeling guts him.
“No,” he gasps, pressing his hands to the sides of his head. It hurts. It hurts, it hurts , it feels as though the pain will split his head in two. “No, Claude —” Dimitri’s hands shake. “I swear , I didn’t mean for—for this to happen—!”
Claude gazes at Dimitri with a distant expression, one that Dimitri has never seen before. It’s cold, calculating, and bitter.
Then he turns away and mounts his wyvern.
“Goodbye, Dimitri.”
As the battlefield roars around him in a whirlwind of blood and shadows, gripping at his ankles like demons and pulling him down, Dimitri stands still. He can do nothing but watch—watch as Claude takes off on his wyvern, Edelgard in custody. And his eye burns. They fly into the sky and Dimitri can still do nothing but watch. He feels so much pain, searing from every tendon and nerve in his body like an uncontrollable wildfire yet feeling none at all at the same time.
“No,” he whimpers, his throat raw. “No, no, no, no, no—”
Suddenly, exhaustion weighs heavy on his shoulders. His knees buckle and the next thing he knows he’s on all fours, his face mere inches from stone.
Perhaps he could smash his face into the ground. A voice tempts him. That would solve everything. It’s not one of his ghosts. It’s a different sort of ghost speaking to him. Dimitri wants to listen.
He wants it. He doesn’t. He does. He hates it. He hates them. He hates Edelgard.
But despite all that, it’s quiet, Dimitri thinks, for the first time in years. The voices are silent. Or maybe he just can’t hear them over the incessant pounding in his head, steady and unruly and getting louder and louder all the same and it hurts and it won’t stop why won’t it stop—
Dimitri shuts his eyes.
Then, first softly, and then all at once—he laughs. He doesn’t know what comes over him. Every breath he’s ever taken is made for this laughter. He laughs until he doubles over and he’s nearly drowning in his own blood, tears streaming down his face and mixing with the crimson to create a swatchy mirror of red and gore. He doesn’t stop laughing, even as he gazes at his reflection. Has he always looked this unhinged? His one working eye might as well be covered with an eyepatch all the same. He can’t see much at all. He can’t tell what’s real anymore.
“— Mitri ,” he hears. It’s a woman’s voice. Soft. He recognizes it. “ Let me heal you. Please. ”
He doesn’t want to assume. It can’t be. Is he dead? He doesn’t know how. But…
“...Step-mother?” he croaks out.
That’s all he can say before the world turns dark.
For once, when Dimitri sleeps, he does not dream.
When he wakes up later, he wonders why that is the case. He swears, he swears to them up and down that he has not forgotten neither their pleas nor the Tragedy that devastated them so. When he wakes up later, he curses himself for even daring to rest so peacefully while the screams of the past still ring in his ears. They have not forgotten. They will never forget.
But for now, there are no screams. No whispers. No voices.
There is only silence.
He cherishes it for as long as he can, slipping in and out of consciousness for what feels like forever. In the times he’s conscious, he can vaguely make out voices, but they’re far away—nothing like the whispers in his ears from his family. Something is pressed against his back. Perhaps he’s lying on something. There’s pain; it throbs throughout his body, but there’s a soothing sensation that runs through his nerves along with it. It makes him feel lethargic and safe. He wants to fall back asleep again, so he gives in to his temptations.
Just as quickly as he dozes off, he wakes up again, and he knows immediately that his slumber is over.
He remembers his dreamless sleep. Guilt wracks his brain.
Slowly, he opens his eye and is greeted with the evening sun shining directly on his face. He tries to move an arm to block out the light, but he can’t find the strength to lift it. That’s when the memory of, well… everything returns to him. Edelgard. Rodrigue.
Goddess, Rodrigue —
He can feel the shadows creeping back, so he doesn’t let himself think. Instead, though his vision is slightly limited by his unruly hair, he scans the room around him. From what he can see, he’s in a small tent he doesn’t recognize. Surprisingly, no one is with him at the moment.
There’s not much in the tent, save for the cot he’s currently laying on and a table with a couple of medical tools, he assumes, for any wounds magic isn’t able to patch up. He spots a jar of water sitting on it, as well as Areadbhar leaning on the foot of the bed. The skeletal blade glistens in the soft light. It’s cleaned, he notices.
He’s not in his armour, which comes to him as a surprise. Though perhaps it shouldn’t be one if he was being treated here. Still, he feels smaller without it. Instead, he’s been put into a thin black shirt that extends halfway up his neck. It reminds him of something he might have worn when he was younger.
He tries to speak. His throat is hoarse.
Experimentally, Dimitri wriggles his limbs.
His arms, though weak and numb, seem fine, and he’s gaining more strength by the second. His legs are about the same.
Bringing his arms in, he carefully pushes himself off the bed to sit up.
Immediately, he lets out a hiss as tendrils of pain shoot up his side, and he remembers the injury he sustained in the fight with Edelgard. It was likely the main reason he passed out earlier. It still aches, but when he moves again, the pain has significantly subsided. He tries again to sit up for a second time, and it’s successful. His head swims for a moment.
While Dimitri may still be reckless and tunnel-visioned, he knows by now that he has to take care of his body and his health. If meeting the Professor and his other childhood friends for the first time in five years taught him anything, it was that.
He smiles fondly as the memory resurfaces. The trio of Sylvain, Felix, and Ingrid tried so hard just to get Dimitri to change out of his horridly unclean armour, ranging from simply yelling at him (Felix) to planning an elaborate scheme to push him into the pond (Sylvain). With the Professor’s help, the latter came to fruition.
He thinks, perhaps, that was the first time he laughed in years. It was much to everyone’s surprise, including his own.
He wants to laugh again.
No. Dimitri’s own thoughts betray him. He should—he cannot not be relaxing and recollecting his fond memories while his people suffer and his family still suffers. There’s still so much that needs to be done, yet here he is, waiting for his wounds to heal caused by his own inadequacies.
Father’s voice resounds in his ears. That’s right. You have much work to do, Mitya. Get up. Go.
Make her pay , step-mother’s voice sings. It’s a sweet sound. Haunting at its edges.
And just like that, the shadows return.
They scream. Dimitri listens. They plead. He begs.
The voices don’t stop, even as he begs. As he pleads. He tries and tries like always to get them to listen but they never listen and they rip apart his skull from the tip of his head to his jaw. There is nothing but shadows.
Avenge Rodrigue , Glenn’s shadow murmurs. He was my father. Yet another reason the Flame Emperor must atone. You won’t let us down again, will you?
“No.” Dimitri clasps his hands together desperately. “No, I will not. I promise it. I swear it. I will have her head. I will. I will, I will, I will . I will go now .”
Garreg Mach. That was where he needed to go.
He would kill her. He would gouge out her eyes. He would make her suffer. He would let the dead rest. No matter his injuries, he would see it done.
Edelgard.
Edelgard.
Edelgard .
Slowly, he twists his body so that his feet hover mere inches above the ground, ignoring the searing pain in his side. It feels as if his very organs are tearing apart with his movement. He continues.
One foot on the ground. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thinks. Dimitri has always had a high pain tolerance.
Rage and regret push him forward.
When he eventually plants both feet down and stands, he nearly doubles over, but catches himself on a wooden pole holding up the ceiling of the tent. He’s careful not to break it. His fingers are numb, and he surges forward. The first step is painful. Spikes of pain shoot up like a hot knife and he lets out the thinnest grunt as the air is knocked out of his lungs, but he doesn’t collapse. His legs feel like lead, weighing him down like an anchor.
More steps. It gets easier over time. Dimitri no longer feels as if his limbs are about to tear off.
As soon as he can walk without needing support, he stumbles to grab Areadbhar, then limps toward the exit.
The fog is long gone, he notes as he steps outside. The heavy mist that suffocated the land for hours during the battle is completely gone, not a trace of it to be found. Even the clouds in the sky have thinned out, leaving nothing but the warm evening rays washing over the campsite. The tall grass of the open field blows softly in the wind, and Dimitri’s unkempt hair follows suit.
It’s… pretty, he thinks, despite the number of dead bodies still littering the ground—what few ones they never got around to. The grassland is simply… empty. Peaceful.
For a moment, his will falters.
Then the shadows’ whispers creep up his back once more, and he takes a step, though significantly less angry . He’ll head toward the stables, he decides, to grab one of the horses and travel to Garreg Mach. That’s all he’ll need to kill her. Just him and Areadbhar.
He takes a heavy step. Another bout of pain explodes from his side and he curses the Goddess for giving him something that will get in his way.
The shadows wrap him in a cold blanket. He keeps trudging through the sunlit camp.
But when Dimitri turns the corner toward the makeshift stables, he spots two people standing in front of the tent.
The Professor… and Felix.
Dimitri freezes.
He hasn’t spoken to anyone since he passed out earlier, but he feels as if those two are the ones he’d want to speak to the least . The Professor because he knows they would see right through him. Felix because…
Guilt. He feels so much guilt it’s about to eat him from the inside out but he forces himself to suppress it. He doesn’t allow himself to feel anything but anger and desire. The desire for revenge.
Dimitri takes a breath to listen in; they’re deep in conversation. Their voices are both calm yet exhausted, with many nods and a couple of head shakes. He wonders if they’ve gotten enough sleep. The Professor is uncharacteristically slouching, if only slightly. On the other hand, Felix is rigid as ever, but his hair is less tidy than usual. Loose strands escape the high ponytail and fall onto his face.
From what he can hear, they’re discussing the details of a funeral.
A funeral.
A horrible feeling rips through Dimitri’s gut and it takes everything in him to stop himself from collapsing and retching what little food he has in his stomach onto the grass by his feet. He places a hand on a wooden pole for support and swallows hard. His eyes burn, utter dread shooting up his spine again and again as every thought in his mind leads back to Rodrigue and Felix and guilt and self-loathing. It hurts more than any physical pain he’s experiencing right now.
Then he shuts his eyes. Goddess , what little sanity left in his body tells him. I do not have time for this—this pointless behaviour. Find Edelgard and kill her and all will be well once again .
The shadows agree.
“Dimitri?” a voice breaks him out of the darkness.
Dimitri opens his eyes and blinks away the dizziness in his vision. He sees the Professor, walking toward him with Felix trailing farther behind. A hand is still clutching the pole, though significantly harder now. The wood splinters under his grip. He lets go.
When Dimitri doesn’t answer, the Professor gracefully approaches him and clasps their hands together. Their expression is unreadable, but undeniably soft.
“Dimitri?” they ask again. “Are you alright?”
Felix scoffs. “Really think the boar’s gonna give a proper response? He’s probably got nothing up there except revenge .”
Dimitri’s mouth is dry. “Felix,” he tries, just barely reaching a hand out. “I’m—”
Felix’s eyes glint with something akin to disgust.
He glowers. “ Save it ,” he snaps, voice taut and watery. There’s a moment of hesitation; brief, but Dimitri takes note of it. “You—” He clenches his fists and shakes his head. “I’m leaving. Goodnight, Professor. Boar.”
And so he disappears, leaving nothing but a heavy atmosphere and another layer of guilt piling onto Dimitri’s shoulders. The Professor stares at the spot Felix once was, though from what he can tell, it’s not out of surprise. There’s a forlorn expression on their face. Dimitri is unnerved by it.
Then they turn to him.
“I washed your cape for you, Dimitri,” they tell him.
Dimitri nearly flinches at the sudden gentleness, but he catches himself. He meets the Professor’s gaze as the heavy feeling settled in his stomach dissipates, if only slightly. They hand him the thick fur cape, and they’re right—it’s softer and cleaner than before, the buildup of blood and dirt of weeks mostly gone.
Slowly, he wraps the cape around himself, the familiar coat weighing down on his shoulders. It’s a comfortable feeling.
“Thank you,” he says, voice low.
“It was my pleasure.” The Professor’s voice is steady, but they stare at him intently. Dimitri feels as if he’s about to crumble under it. “Are you still going to kill Edelgard?”
Dimitri flinches this time.
“Y—yes,” he says. “Yes. I will. Are you going to stop me?”
“Also yes.”
“You waste your breath, Professor. I am too far down this path for you to stop me now.”
“I can try,” they insist, though their expression hasn’t changed.
The shadows swirl. Don’t listen to them. Do it for us. Do it for us, Mitya.
“Let me kill her. Help me, Professor,” Dimitri begs, bringing his hands together as if he were praying to the Goddess herself. “ Help me kill her .”
Yes, they continue to whisper. Kill her. Kill her, kill her, kill her.
Kill whoever gets in your way.
Do this for us.
The Professor shakes their head, green strands curling at the ends. “You know I can’t do that. We’re working hard for this peace, Dimitri. All of us. I know… I know how this will end.”
“With her alive, Fòdlan will never know peace. How will it end, Professor? Tell me.”
“It…” they swallow. “I don’t know. But I know that killing her won’t solve a thing.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Killing her won’t appease the dead, either.”
“It—it will . If I kill her, they can finally be at peace. They can finally get their revenge on the one who wronged them. This burden falls on me . The sole survivor of that day, the one left behind. With all of their lingering regrets, they will not loosen their hold on me so easily.” Dimitri is kneeling on the ground now, his breathing heavy and his head even heavier. As tiny stones dig into his knees, the grass rough against his shins, desperation creeps into his voice. “If I kill her, I can finally atone for my sins, for—for failing to stop the Tragedy of Duscur, for failing to save them—”
Then the Professor kneels in front of him, and Dimitri refuses to meet their gaze.
“Is Rodrigue part of the voices, too?”
Something stops in Dimitri’s chest.
His first instinct is to lash out at the Professor—how dare they slander Rodrigue’s name as they are, knowing exactly who Rodrigue was to Dimitri? For just a moment, his vision goes red as anger floods his chest.
Then, just as quickly, it pours out, because it dawns on him that—
No.
Rodrigue is not part of the voices.
He has never been one of the voices.
“He’s not there, right?” the Professor smiles sadly. “Because he never wanted you to live the way you are now.”
“Are—are you saying the others wished this upon me?”
They shake their head. “This isn’t their wish. You’re in pain, Dimitri. You need to heal.”
“I am healing.”
The stones seem to dig further into Dimitri’s shins as they continue. “I don’t mean just physically, though that’s important, too. I mean mentally and emotionally, Dimitri. You’re taking on the burden of something that wasn’t even your fault to begin with. It’s twisted your mind. Your heart.” An air of ethereality rises with them as they look up. They reach their hand toward Dimitri, but he doesn’t take it. “For just how long have you been in pain, Dimitri?”
Pain, he wonders. Dimitri has been in pain for as long as he can remember. Since the Tragedy struck. Since the shadows rooted themselves into Dimitri’s body and took hold of his life by the throat. Since the fall of Garreg Mach.
Dimitri cannot remember a time he hasn’t been in pain.
“Too long,” the Professor answers for him instead. They shake their head knowingly. “The pain that you feel has always been too much. You’ve suffered enough. You have to forgive yourself, Dimitri, and that means that you have to stop living for the dead. Because you’re alive.”
He catches the laugh in his throat. “Alive,” he near-mocks. “Just barely. Look at me. What am I now but a murderous monster, half-dead and doomed to roam the lands unsatisfied and unfulfilled?”
“You are alive. Never tell yourself otherwise.”
Dimitri swallows.
Living for the dead. Indeed, it is what he has been doing for the past ten years. Living only to fulfill their needs. Even his time at Garreg Mach was simply to learn more about the Tragedy of Duscur and to prepare for the fateful day he could silence the voices.
All that time was spent living for the dead. If he stopped now…
“But then who… or what… should I live for?”
“Yourself.”
My...self?
Dimitri stares at the ground, unable to raise his head. “I—I cannot. My hands are stained red, Professor. I can never wash them clean. Do I… do I even have the right to live for myself?”
“Everyone has the right to live for what they believe in,” the Professor says firmly. “You have hopes and dreams and ideals of your own, Dimitri. Listen to yourself, instead of them. I know that… that your shadows may never disappear. That you may always feel guilt for what happened, even though it was never ever your fault. All of those lives you took in your madness… are what you need to atone for instead.
“But you should stop looking to the past, and instead look at the present and the future. Because those are things you can change. Because you have so many people by your side. With Claude, you have even more. These are not things you have to face alone, anymore.”
As he listens to the Professor’s words, something floods out from within Dimitri—something unexplainable, infected with the years of rage and hatred festering inside of him. It is as if someone has untied the knot securing the void right below his chest and let it all out at once. His entire body shakes as a tidal wave of emotions swells up and knocks Dimitri over. From pain and guilt to relief and understanding, all of it just resurges again and again and again, and Dimitri…
These are not things you have to face alone, anymore .
Dimitri feels .
He feels the unfamiliar sensation of tears pricking at his eyes like the blooming frost in the harsh Faerghus winters. He tries to blink them back, but it is to no avail. They fall. Tears fall from his eyes and he sniffs, the overwhelming whirlwind of emotions striking him yet again.
They drip from his face and splatter onto the ground below.
“Professor—” he mumbles, wiping away the tears the best he can. They keep on coming. His lips quiver “I… I’m—
Then the Professor places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Dimitri,” they smile, and Dimitri looks up. They lean forward, and suddenly, Dimitri is surrounded by a comforting warmth as the Professor wraps their arms around him and hugs him tight. He freezes, just for a moment, but he pushes the instinct aside and melts into their embrace.
“It’s alright. You’re going to be okay.”
And Dimitri believes them.
The tears still refuse to stop as they hug tighter, nothing but utter warmth and love coursing through him. That’s right, he remembers. He is loved. Loved by many now, and will be loved by more in the future. Everything else; his shadows, even the war, is far, far away. All he can feel is this comfort.
Eventually, they let go, and the Professor stands, while Dimitri is still on his knees.
“Come,” they offer. “Get up. A king should not kneel before his subjects. It should be the other way around.”
They reach their hand to Dimitri, and he takes it.
Byleth’s face is timeless and objectively beautiful in the sunset. Anyone could see that. But as the evening sun disappears below the horizon and the sky fades into a mass of deep indigo and pink at the edge, Dimitri finds that the world is even more beautiful than it was just moments ago.
“Thank you,” Dimitri murmurs, his throat still raw from crying. He allows the Professor to pull him up to his feet. “For letting me understand.”
They smile. “You’re not going after Edelgard?”
“I—I would not dare dream of it anymore. She may have been the cause of the war, but even she has her reasons. The two of us… we are more similar than I would like to admit,” he chuckles bitterly. “We have been through much. She views the world as corrupt and evil, yet it is not entirely her fault. She is simply… misguided. Besides, she—she is not the one responsible for the Tragedy of Duscur.”
The truth is, he has always known this. But, blinded by rage, he refused to accept it.
“I’m glad you understand that. Then instead, I hope you’ll join us for Rodrigue’s memorial tonight.”
“Memorial?”
“Yes. When the war is over, Felix plans to organise a proper one in Fraldarius, as well as ones for all the other lives lost.”
Dimitri frowns, eyebrows furrowed as he crosses his arms. “Felix plans to do that?”
“I was surprised, too. Can’t say I took him for the type.”
“I believe…” He takes a breath. “I believe he cares about the Duke and everyone else far more than he lets on. He wishes to show his gratitude to everyone by planning and organising these funerals…”
“But?”
“But he is not living for the dead.”
“You’re right. And neither are you. I think…” The Professor begins walking toward the camp’s entrance, a gentle breeze rustling through their clothes. Dimitri follows them until he catches up, and they stroll side by side. “I think you’ll be able to reforge what was broken years ago between you two, now.”
“You truly believe so?”
“I’ve seen people come back from worse,” they laugh. “Plus, I believe in you. A lot of other people want to believe in you, too.”
Dimitri remembers Claude’s earlier words and looks ahead. He smiles.
“Then I won’t let you down, Professor.”